For pure élan of ecstatic spew, the supine wanker with face upturned beneath his top's erupted dick combines gratitude with tribute in his knob's explosive puke. This is a fine suite, overall, however, on dick's eternal promisepaste, bestowed. But I love the most, the image of the gatherage of the salubrious slop in the clavicle well, the luscious authoring dick observing its descending streams of glistening balm between the plated nipples now subsiding in the calm. Where does dick begin, where does dick end, in this sublime repose of bottom's straddling dick's subsiding close, the bulbous pith still glowing as a force to conjure with, its sheath at last unhurried to reclaim its precious ward? All of dick here pauses to indulge delicious causes of its gush.
The groupspray of the surrounded stud might well have dipped into the make-up kit to scatter these fair lariats of slop, but the guy assuredly deserved the last, full measure of these dicks' assuaging balm. He's had a good workout, and his mouth has molded many domes to make their molt essential to decant.It's the tabletop bottom whose anxious dickwork so redoubles his top's agony to gush, that these splatters must assuredly be genuine. But there you are: looking up beneath the business end of a fuck-extracted dick, churning hot to help you to a portion of its paste, and you heave your hips in empathy of fist-enthrottled cock, its bulbous begging pith thwapping solidly above your urethra-choking grasp,the flaring hilt aflame with purple radiance as fuckling treacle slips its sutured slit, and you're bound to encourage a convulsive, happy shot of slush from one of you, at least -- and look great, doin' it! This is why that dick can't take it anymore, and patches your penisgaping mouth with spew.